Do You Hear the Pirates Sing?
by totallyrandomwigs
Summary: Enjolras and Grantaire barely escape from the barricades with their lives. But now they need to get out of France ASAP. So they hitch a lift on the nearest ship, a jolly little vessel called The Black Pearl...
1. Chapter 1

**Best Laid Plans**

_*****Author's Note**_

_**I love weird crossovers, and what could be more weird than Pirates of the Carribbean and Les Miserables? This takes place after the events of Les Miserables, and between Pirates of the Carribbean 3 and 4.**_

_**Please let me know what you think, read&review. For the purposes of this fanfic, both Enjolras and Grantaire survived the barricades. I also apologise in advance for any awful depictions of any character's accents...**_

As usual, _The Chat Noir_ inn was packed with customers. The bartender viewed the bustling scene with complacency. It was always good for business when the ships came in, that was one of the benefits of living near the docks. When all the ships came in from all over the world, even the filthiest, foulest inns filled up with men eager to exchange their hard-earned money for watery beer and rancid food. After all those months at sea, it probably tasted delicious. Everyone was happy. Or at least drunk. As the bartender ran his eye across the room, two young men in the corner caught his eye. They didn't look happy. They looked terrified. At least, the one with a mop of dark, curly hair looked terrified. His mug of ale was untouched in front of him. And it was only his first, the bartender thought with disapproval. His friend made up for it though. Beside the dark-haired one sat a very handsome young man, fairhaired, with an expensive-looking red coat. Now _he _was on his sixth mug of ale. He was drinking determinedly. _Like a man desperate to forget,_ the bartender thought shrewdly. He beckoned at a familiar customer. 'Hey, Jacques,'

'That's me,' a slightly inebriated man with a florid complextion wobbled over. 'What can I do you for?'

'D'you know those two young 'uns over there?'

Jacques squinted for a few seconds. 'Nope. Can't say I do. Fancy coat he's got there.'

'That feller there, the blonde one in the fancy red coat, he's got the look of a desperate drunk,' the bartender nodded knowingly. 'The other one looks as if he's about to wet himself.' they laughed raucously. Suddenly Jacques' eyes widened. 'Looks like he's expecting to be arrested at any time.'

The bartender shrugged. 'Wouldn't surprise me. None of my business, that is.'

'You know what I think?' Jacques leaned confidentially across the bar. 'I think that those two might have had something to do with that uprising. Y'know, in Paris? They said it was mostly young men.'

'You don't say.' the bartender mused. 'I heard that not all of them were dead. They were a couple – three or four, I think, who were unaccounted for. There's a hefty reward for turning 'em in.'

'That's right,' Jacques urged. 'What I wouldn't do for that kind of money.'

'What d'you think they're doing here?'

'Trying to leave the country, o'course! Better move quick.'

Grantaire looked up, and saw the bartender and a greasy-looking man staring greedily at them. His heart sank. They'd been recognized. 'Enjolras,' he hissed, 'We have to go.'

Enjolras shook his head drunkenly. 'Not going anywhere,' he slurred.

'We have to!' Grantaire tried to take the mug of ale from his friend, but Enjolras whisked it out of the way, spilling half of it on the table and on him himself as he did so. 'Gerrofofit,' he mumbled. Grantaire clenched his fists in frustration. It was less than three days since the barricades. His shoulder still stung where a bullet skimmed it. Enjolras was lucky, the bullet meant for him had ricchoched off a button. The two of them had had the good sense the lie still, and the soldiers had left them for dead. Although Grantaire was sure that Enjolras regretted his actions. Grantaire looked over his shoulder to see whether they were still being watched. The bartender and the greasy-looking man were nowhere to be seen. Somehow this was more worrying. 'Listen, Enjolras,' Grantaire began, with more than a touch of desperation, 'if we stay here much longer, the soldiers will catch up with us. They'll kill us, Enjolras!'

'Why not?' Enjolras laid his head on the grubby table, staring blearily into space. 'I mean, evr...everyone else is dead. All our friends are dead.' he blinked drunkenly up at his friend, and suddenly threw his arms around him. 'Why aren't we dead, Grantaire?' he wailed, a little too loudly. Several people turned to stare at them. 'Shhh!' Grantaire hissed, disentangling himself from Enjolras. 'Come on, we _have _to go.'

'Don't want to. Where will we go?'

'I don't know. Out of the country, maybe to...'

'No.' Enjolras sat bolt upright and glared at his friend.

'No?'

'No. I'm not_hic_ leaving the country. This is my home.'

'This will be your grave if you don't...'

'_IthinkI'mgoingtobesick..._' Enjolras suddenly pushed past Grantaire and ran clumsily out of the front door into the night, upsetting a table full of food, three mugs of ale, two chairs and a barmaid carrying a tray as he went.

Grantaire followed, feeling the eyes of everyone, including angry customers and an irate barmaid, boring into his back.

Enjolras was very sick behind some barrels.

'I don't feel well.' he mumbled thickly, slumping to the ground.

'We can't stay here.' Grantaire sighed. 'Come on, you get.'

Enjolras looked up at him, his eyes suddenly clear. 'I'm not leaving France, Grantaire. If you take me away, I'll never forgive you. Ever.' Then he suddenly fell asleep.

_Great. Just great. _Grantaire felt like screaming. _We're stuck in France, because his nibs refuses to leave. If we stay, we'll no doubt get arrested and executed. If I drag him onto a ship, I'll lose my friend forever. _He glared down at his inebriated friend. 'I hate you!' he said aloud. 'I wish I could leave you here!'

Noise from the inn they had just vacated caught his attention. Grantaire sneaked over to the entrance and peered in. He gasped in horror...the inn was full of soldiers! They were standing where he and Enjolras had been sitting not too long ago, talking to the bartender and the greasy-looking man. Suddenly the barmaid that Enjolras had knocked over popped up, and started speaking, pointing towards the door. Grantaire couldn't hear what they were saying, but he could guess. He dashed back into the alleyway and started shaking Enjolras.

'Enjolras! You have to get up now! Come on, the soldiers are here! They've come for us!'

A snore was his only reply.

'Oh, come _on_, you drunken idiot! If you don't care about your own life, think of _me_!' he groaned. Footsteps were coming closer. Grantaire resorted to dragging Enjolras around the corner, behind a huge pile of rubbish, nets and barrels. A thought suddenly occurred to him. _This must be what Enjolras feels like every night, when I get so drunk I can't walk. He was always complaining about it. It really is irritaing. I will never drink again._ Fortunately it was late at night, and there was no moon. In the dark, the soldiers ran straight past their hiding places. But, enticed by the promise of a reward, most of the customers poured out of the inn and started making their own search for the two men. Grantaire's heart sank. _Great. Soon, the whole town will be looking for us. _He crawled out of his hiding place and paced cautiously up and down. _Think. Come on, think. There must a way out of this. I need a miracle. _

'Hey, you.'

Grantaire jumped at the unfamiliar voice. He turned to see two scruffy-looking individuals, a short, fat, balding man with a grey beard, and a tall, thin man with greasy hair and what looked like a fake eye. _Is that _wood_? _Grantaire wondered, squinting.

'Stop lookin' at me eye!' the man snapped, and they both advanced. Grantaire noticed that one had a gun. 'If you're going to rob us,' he began, trying not to sound scared, 'it's pointless. I don't have any money.'

'That be not what we want.'

Grantaire turned again, and saw that he was cornered. Two more people, a grey-haired man and a woman, had sneaked up behind him.

'The name's Joshamee Gibbs.' the grey haired man introduced himself, with a not very nice smile. 'This here's Anamaria,' he indicated the woman standing next to him. She said nothing, and it was too dark to make out what she looked like.

Understanding dawned. 'Ahh,' Grantaire realised, 'you're pirates.'

The four chuckled evilly.

'You want to pressgang us,' Grantaire continued.

Again the evil chuckle.

Relief flooded over him. _Enjolras would never forgive me if I took him out of the country, but if we were pressganged...well now, there's nothing I could do about it. _

'Thank goodness.' he gasped in relief.

'Eh?' Mr Gibbs looked slightly nonplussed. 'Are...are you sure you know what pressganging is, boy?'

'Oh yes. You kidnap us, force us into servitude upon your ratty vessel, we endure poor food, no wages, scurvy and whatever else you get on ships, until we get an opportunity to do a runner. Am I right?'

'Ah, yes,' Mr Gibbs looked happy. 'I'm glad you understand your end of the bargain boy.'

'Excellent. Shall we go?'

'Oh, er, I suppose. Eager, aren't we?'

'Oh yes.' Grantaire heard ominous footsteps again. 'By the way,' he dragged Enjolras out by his arm, 'you might need to carry him. He's entirely drunk.'

'Should we knock them on the head?' the man with the wooden eye asked, looking bewildered.

'I don't see there's any need.' Mr Gibbs shrugged. 'One's stone drunk, and the other can't wait to get aboard.'

'Then...' the short grey-bearded man looked more confused than ever, '...what are we here for?'

'Oh, just come with me!' Mr Gibbs snapped, and led the way through the narrow, dark alleyways. He led them past dozens of ships, until they came to one and stopped. It was an impressive ship, from what Grantaire could make out. Its sails looked strangely dark, and a little ragged. 'What is this ship called?' he asked, suddenly feeling less sure of himself. Mr Gibbs grinned. 'They call her _The Black Pearl_.'


	2. Chapter 2

**Bilge-Water**

_**I should probably mention, if you haven't guessed already, that I fully intend to mess with the canon here. Because that is what fanfiction is for. Also, I'm still a pretty inexperienced writer, so I'd really appreciate any feedback or advice or whatever, so please R&R :)**_

Mr Gibbs insisted on Grantaire walking in front of him up the gangplank onto the ship. Grantaire looked over his shoulder to see the two other pirates manhandling an unconscious Enjolras towards the gangplank. The deep foreboding that had settled in the pit of his stomach grew worse, and he stopped before he stepped onto the ship. Mr Gibbs firmly pushed Grantaire onto the ship.

In the gloom, he could make that there were about twenty sailors already on board. 'Forward.' Mr Gibbs poked Grantaire in the back, and he began to make his way across the deck. 'Down here.' Mr Gibbs pointed to an open hatch, and they descended the steep steps into the almost total darkness below. 'Ehh...now what?' Grantaire ventured cautiously, when they came to a sudden stop. 'Here we are.' Mr Gibbs sounded as if he was smiling, then pushed Grantaire forward into a completely dark room. Grantaire landed on his hands and knees, and heard the door slam behind him, and bolts being drawn. Then there was silence.

Grantaire sat with his back against the door, hugging his knees, and desperately tried to see in the darkness. _You are a fool. _He told himself. _What did you think was going to happen? You're a prisoner here as much as you would be if we'd been arrested. I suppose this way we might not die. I wonder where Enjolras is?_ Just as he thought this, he felt the door behind him open, and he quickly moved out of the way. Something heavy was thrown into the room and landed with a _thud _somewhere to his left. 'He's a heavy 'un,' a deep voice grumbled, then the door was slammed shut and bolted again. _Must be Enjolras, _Grantaire thought hopefully. He groped blindly across the slimy floor until he felt the warm, solid material of Enjolras' shoulder. He dragged his friend over beside him. Enjolras was still unconscious. Hugging his knees tighter than ever, Grantaire fought down the dark feelings of despair, regret, and trepidation until he fell asleep from sheer exhaustion.

Grantaire awoke with a jolt to a horrendous feeling of seasickness. The boat was lurching drunkenly about, making it virtually impossible to stand up. At least his eyes had gotten a little used to the darkness. They were in a much smaller room than he'd initially thought, with about half a dozen lopsided, patched and darned hammocks slung in the corner. An alarming giant puddle of cold, salty bilge-water had gathered in the centre of the room, and was already lapping at their feet. Enjolras was still lolling drunkenly against his shoulder.

'Enjolras?' Grantaire whispered hopefully, poking his friend.

'Mmm? What? What?' Enjolras moaned. 'Oh, I feel absolutely awful.'

'You would. You drank enough last night.'

'Did I? I honestly can't remember. How you can do that night after night is beyond me. My head feels as if it's about to split...' he sat up, squinted around him, and froze. 'Grantaire?'

'Y..yes?'

'Where are we?'

'That's, eh, an excellent question.' Grantaire was glad the gloom hid his bright red face. He'd always planned to pretend that it had all been accident, which it sort of was. But now the time came, he really didn't want to lie to Enjolras. He'd never had to. 'We seem to have been pressganged,' he heard himself saying. 'You'd been sick and collapsed behind some barrels, and four sailors suddenly jumped on us.'

'No. No. It can't be.' Enjolras sounded shaky. 'Where are we? I might never see France again. How could you let this happen!'

'I...I'm sorry,' Grantaire was taken aback by his friend's anger. 'It's not my fault.'

'Of course it's your fault! I've always taken care of you, and now that I need you...well, look at the mess we're in. This is what comes of having a useless, drunken lout as a friend. Thanks for nothing.' Enjolras shot back bitterly.

His words stung Grantaire. Silently, the young man got up and wobbled over to the hammocks, and manouvered himself into one. 'I'm getting some sleep,' he addressed the ceiling. 'You should probably try and sleep off that hangover. I should know, being a drunken lout and all.'

Enjolras' conscience pricked him. He opened his mouth to apologise, but couldn't make the words come out.

'Wake up! Wake up, you drunken swine!' Mr Gibbs roared, kicking the sleeping blonde gentleman in the ribs. 'Come on, there's work to be done!'

Enjolras rolled over and sat up with a jolt. Grantaire tried to get out of the hammock, but got his legs tangled in it and fell face first into the rancid water which had collected underneath him. Mr Gibbs stood, legs akimbo and arms crossed, as the two young men stood before him. Both stood about a head and a half taller than him.

'Now,' he began, and Enjolras glimpsed the other two pirates, with the wooden eye and the grey stringy beard, lurking in the doorway behind Mr Gibbs. 'You two have probably realised where you are. You look like clever boys, so I presume you've also realised that there's no way off this ship. If you know what's good for you, you'll get a move on and get to work. We've got a fair wind and the Cap'n's set the course, and I'm not going to waste this wind because you two fairies are having a long lie in! Now move!'

Enjolras opened his mouth to argue, and Grantaire elbowed him in his already sore ribs.

'Question?' Mr Gibbs asked icily.

'No sir.' Grantaire replied brightly.

'Pintel and Ragetti will show you what you've to do.' Mr Gibbs jerked his head in the direction of the other two pirates.

'This way.' the one with the wooden smirked horribly. 'I'm Ragetti.'

'And I'm Pintel.' the other one put in. 'What they call you?'

'Grantaire,' Grantaire hesitated, but Enjolras seemed to have no intention of speaking. He was looked around him as they walked up toward the deck, with a bewildered expression. 'My friend's name is Enjolras.'

'Really?' Pintel scoffed. 'Them's stupid names.'

'I suppose.' Grantaire ventured, trying to sound friendly. Surely their best chance right now was to make friends with everybody.

Suddenly they stepped out on deck. The brilliant sunshine was almost blinding after the deep gloom and thick, stale air below deck. There was not a cloud in the perfectly blue sky, and not a trace of land on the horizon. They were completely alone on the vast sea.

'Where...where are we?' Grantaire asked, trying to make his voice steady. He was scared. His plan to get himself and Enjolras safely away from France was backfiring badly. Instead of being stuck in a French port with the authorities closing in, they were trapped on a tiny, leaky, smelly vessel in the middle of the sea, with nowhere to hide.

'Dunno,' Ragetti shrugged.

'How are you two with heights?' Pintel asked with a wicked grin.

'Oh, I'm fine with heights,' Grantaire lied.

'And how's your friend? Him that don't speak? Seriously, is he mute or just stupid?'

_Just stupid._ Grantaire thought. 'What do you want us to do?'

Ragetti and Pintel exchanged looks, and simultaneously pointed at the sky.

'This is stupid,' Grantaire panted. They were only a third of the way up the rigging, and already he couldn't bring himself to look down. The rickety-looking basket that Pintel said was the crow's nest seemed a million miles away, swaying alarmingly with the rocking of the ship. Navigating the rigging was proving an impossible task for Grantaire, who had already been seasick once already. Enjolras was quite a way ahead of him, hauling himself upwards with determination.

'Enjolras, can't you wait?' Grantaire called up pitfully, hearing the helplessness in his own voice. 'I'm stuck.'

Enjolras hesitated, and looked back. As usual, his face betrayed no emotion, not so much as hint of pity or concern. Grantaire sighed, risked a glance down, and tried to heave himself upward. His foot slipped, and he fell backwards. A hand gripped his, and he swung back against the rigging, and clutched at the ropes.

'Are you all right?' Enjolras' face was still impassive, but he did not let go of Grantaire's wrist until he was sure he had a secure grip on the rigging.

'I'm fine.'

Together they made their way to the crow's nest. It was a poorly constructed box, and the two of them could barely fit in. Grantaire gripped the sides so tightly his knuckles turned white. _I don't think I'll ever get used to this rocking. I think I'm going to be sick again._ 'What now?' he asked aloud.

Enjolras shrugged and continued staring out to sea. He still had said nothing. _Maybe he's sulking, _ Grantaire thought. 'Well, I suppose we just stick it out till they come in to port. Then we'll make a run for it.'

'They're pirates, aren't they?' Enjolras finally broke his silence.

'Yes,' Grantaire replied reluctantly. 'I mean, I presume so. But I can't imagine it's all excitement and thievery, being a pirate. We'll probably just have a really uneventful journey. What's the worst that can happen?'


End file.
